


Our Own Dream

by Calesvol



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 07:04:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13608126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calesvol/pseuds/Calesvol
Summary: Noctis and Luna never liked the idea of an arranged marriage. So, shortly after Noctis arrived in Altissia, they decide to have a wedding on their own terms on a midnight rendezvous. With some help from Weskham, of course.





	Our Own Dream

Warning(s): G, none

* * *

 

It was just a little past midnight when Noctis’ smart phone buzzed in his back pocket, having purposefully fallen asleep with it in his pocket. Swiftly, sheets were disturbed as Noctis rushed to silence it and gazed at the screen beneath the covers, vigilant so that the others wouldn’t hear him. Or see the glare of the light, seeing as Ignis was the lightest sleeper of the three of them. Sapphire blues dilated when he saw the text of the notification.

**[ Weskham ]** _She’s here and waiting. Come now, Highness._

He would’ve bolted like a child on Yule were it not for the fact that his slumbering companions occupied their shared room at the Leville, knowing he’d have to be quiet. Sharing a bed with Ignis--while Gladio bunked with Prompto--he had to move carefully. So far just as the weight he applied to the mattress recovered there wasn’t even a whine of springs, he froze when Ignis shifted.

“Noct?” Ignis inquired groggily, blinking owlishly at his friend. “Is everything alright?”

Noctis offered him a placating smile, keeping his voice low as not to wake the others. “Yeah, just—I’m gonna go get some air. I won’t be long, promise.” That was a lie. Even though their eloping wouldn’t take them very far, Noctis still didn’t know how long an informal ceremony would take. Weskham had mentioned that Camelia would be their witness, which was reassuring, and was far better than having anyone in the empire pay witness with the muzzle of a gun trained on the heads of the betrothed.

The whole arranged marriage deal had never sat well with him to begin with.

Once his boots were laced and he looked somewhat presentable, Noctis stole from the hotel on to Altissia’s streets. The city interlocked between buildings and Campos and bridges was a silent excursion until Noctis remembered the meeting grounds: not the docks as he’d been left to believe, but Maagho and then the Altissian Parliamentary building that had loomed over them when they’d first come to the floating city.

The city was remarkably well-lit despite the late hours, Noctis vigilant as he was careful not to draw attention to himself.

Fucking Six, that didn’t mean he wasn’t still nervous. Letters. The notebook. They’d been corresponding for years and the woman on the other end was still taking shape. Bahamut knew he was still uncertain about his feelings for her, but when he saw pictures, heard her voice over the radio, it felt like she was there. Her life under Niflheim’s heel meant she wasn’t able to express herself freely in these letters, and neither was he for fear of what it would incur on her.

But, maybe it wouldn’t have to be like that anymore.

It was a complex system, what they’d come up with over the years. They sent letters, careful to avoid incriminating information, whilst the notebooks had almost been like a low-tech version of Twitter. Maybe it struck the others as odd, but he enjoyed it. It was like getting to know someone from all sides. And Luna really was that person for him.

It’s why it took him back when he finally stumbled into the open-air anterior of the restaurant where only a few candles were lit, seeing as the rest of the city was fast asleep. There, by the back of her head was Lunafreya engaged in pleasant conversation with Weskham, even the though the former steward lifted his eyes meaningfully to Noctis, a flush creeping down his neck when Luna finally met eyes with his. It was like sparks flew when they did, Noctis unable to help but stride quickly and engulf the woman in an embrace, the Oracle returning it just as strongly if not more so.

They couldn’t help but smile giddily as they withdrew, Noctis having to keep himself from wanting to kiss her all over rather comically. “It’s really you. And—this. It’s really happening, isn’t it?” he said with a smile while taking them back to the counter before Weskham. The man was busily polishing a tumbler, likely to give the lovers some semblance of privacy.

“The wedding never sat quite right with either of you, did it?” Weskham interjected, deep brown eyes on them both.

Lunafreya smiled sadly at this, taking one of Noctis’ hands in her own. “Chancellor Izunia arranged it, Sir Armaugh. It was not of our own choice, or our parents. As Oracle, as the Chosen—it simply isn’t within our futures. Yet, perhaps...through this, we might make our own.”

“Yeah. We do it our own way, then we’ll rise up to meet our fates for ourselves.” His fingers closed around Luna’s, holding tight. “But, y’know, I think the world can wait for a night.”

Their love had always been complicated, to say the least. Luna felt it, too, when she remembered what a disconnect the announcement of the engagement had extolled. It felt..wrong. That it wasn’t the time when the fate of the world loomed taller than personal feelings. They were there, yes, but a wedding such as this? Neither could afford the distractions. Even Noctis was aware by now of a higher purpose, that a wedding didn’t fit into it. At least, not the pomp and ceremony the empire planned.

“Weskham, mind if we talk alone for a minute?” Noctis asked suddenly, the older man seeming surprised.

“Of course. I have to finalize some things with Camelia, anyhow.”

“Noctis, what’s wrong?” Luna questioned when Noctis relinquished hold of her hand.

The younger man bit his lip, sighing. “Luna, this...whole deal with the prophecy, the Astrals, _us_ —I don’t think you’ve been entirely honest with me. What do you know that you aren’t telling me?”

She was capable of it. She was perfectly capable of lying and twisting Noctis around her little finger. Dearest Noctis… She loved him, truly, but nothing could stand between her and leading Noctis to his fate. Not even this. Lunafreya could manipulate him as she had countless Niflheim men before him, of higher ranks and lower cunning she’d learned to think like.

But, he trusted her not to. Not as the Oracle, but as his friend. She couldn’t bring herself to.

Bringing her hands to clutch at her bosom, Lunafreya sighed heavily. “The prophecy, by what we know, will lead to our deaths. For the greater good.”

“No,” he rebuffed automatically, face becoming intense. “We’re not dying. How do you know it’s the only way?”

“It is the will of the gods. And their will is absolute.”

“Is that what your brother thinks, Luna? Would he just roll over and accept that?” Noctis challenged, the pair of them equally intense.

“No,” Luna conceded quietly, blue eyes lowering but not quite in shame. She grew quiet for a long moment, but Noctis searched here and found a glimmer of hope. “Since I was a girl, this is what I’ve been told. To listen absolutely to the gods. To never question their will.” It was all she knew, truly. That Lunafreya would always live beneath another’s heel. But seeing Noctis, he was unlike the Chosen King ready to throw his life away for the greater good.

No, this was a boy who didn’t want to die.

Noctis’ face softened, suddenly apologetic. “’m sorry, Luna,” he murmured, bringing their brows to rest against one another. “Kings and Oracles are always meant to be by each other’s side, right? Why can’t we find another way together?”

This was so like him. As a boy, Noctis had wanted nothing less than to defy the fate handed to him. When many had said he’d never walk again, that his coma would last much longer, he’d bounced back full of piss and vinegar. Luna’s hands pressed on his chest, just curling over his shoulders. She didn’t know why, but despite living on borrowed time, this felt as though it’d be a happy time for them. “We’ll fight, then. We’ll find another way. I swear it, Noct.”

Noctis couldn’t help but smile radiantly, and she could swear it was brighter than the sun.

* * *

With less people, there simply wasn’t as much to prepare for. Luna’s wedding gown was simply the satin gown she had planned to wear for the summoning of Leviathan, forgoing the Vivienne Westwood number simply because it was bought on the empire’s budget, not the Fleuret’s.

Quite honestly, Luna was glad for it. This felt simpler, like it was them and not the mannequins that empire wanted them to be. A spectacle to detract away from reality, if for but a little while. Before the full-body mirror, she felt confident. And a little giddy and even betrayed. That they would defy fate together, even though it would enormously contradict everything she knew. Perhaps it’s why it made her nervous. Would the Lord of the Skies smite her where she stood if he knew?

Snapped from her rapture, a soft rapping on the dressing room door was indication enough that they were ready.

The small, nondenominational chapel it was set within was barely larger than half a classroom, only able to fit a dozen people at most. But, for them, it was perfect. Camelia stood in her trademark turquoise pantsuit and was to serve as the minister of their impromptu wedding.

Noctis, too, was waiting in his designer Armani suit that was likely on a temporary loan. Luna blushed at how handsomely it befit him, a maidenly dusting of pink that caused Noctis to smile boyishly. Weskham stood at the pulpit, both certain they saw a glimpse of Gentiana.

“Neither of you might remember, but I’ve known you for quite some time. Your Highness, I still remember when Regis was over the moon at your birth. In spite of the tragic loss of Her Majesty, the late Queen Aulea, your still possessed her strength. Her eyes, her face, her hopes. And she hoped to see her son grow happily. Which I am certain she is and is proud of the man you are today.” To Lunafreya, he let Camelia speak in his stead.

“Lady Lunafreya, I will confess I don’t bear the closeness Weskham has with his highness. I didn’t even know the late Queen Sylva as well I would’ve liked, however—I’ve heard and seen your strength and I’ve followed it for quite some time. Your actions for the benefit of the people of Eos has not gone unsung, even in Altissia. It is why, in Leviathan’s name, I believe it best to wed you here and now with your betrothed.”

Noctis and Lunafreya clasped hands together, both nervous smiles despite the solemnity of this. Camelia glanced at Noctis expectantly, indication for him to say his vows. The young man cleared his throat, hands understandably clammy that Luna gave no polite indication of noticing. “Luna, we’ve...known each other for over twelve years now. That’s pretty incredible, right? Even after everything we’ve endured, I think its made us stronger, not weaker. And that’s a big point of marriage. Like, you told me about all this in those letters we sent awhile back. About love, how it’s supposed to be,” Noctis rambled, swallowing thickly. “But—I just want us to be _us_. Only, as husband and wife. In sickness, in health, through prophecies—I want to be with you through it all.”

Luna inhaled excitedly, giddily. “When I was girl, I had an idea as how this was supposed to be. Us, before an enormous alter with crowds abounding. Applauding, with the gods looking on to usher us towards our happy ending.” She sighed, growing more serious. “I see now ours was not happy, and that we must write it for ourselves. That we must take the future into our own hands, for our sake, and that of the world. Will you take me, then, Prince Noctis, as your wife? As someone to fight by your side for the future?”

The grip on each others’ hands became resolute, boiling with conviction and resolve.

“Yes, I do,” Noctis and Luna said emphatically, in unison.

Weskham rounded to Camelia’s side, smiling widely at the pair.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

And he did, twelve years lost almost made up between them in the breadth of a moment.


End file.
